


Mansuetude

by tinyinkspots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama & Romance, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyinkspots/pseuds/tinyinkspots
Summary: "Fenris…" His eyes burned into her. She had imagined their reunion a thousand times, and still she knew not what, exactly, to say. She settled for honesty, and braced herself for his anger. "Fenris, I'm incredibly sorry." (In which Hawke and Fenris navigate the fallout of Hawke aiding the Inquisition)





	Mansuetude

“Oh!” 

Fenris looked up from the book, seeing Hawke hunched over the rough hewn table, clutching her hand.  She set the knife down on the surface, away from the berry tart in its parchment wrapping.

“Are you alright?”

She glanced at him, a sheepish grin on her face.  “It’s just a scratch.”  She put the finger to her mouth.  Knowing her propensity to underrate wounds, he rose from the bed and went to examine her for himself.

“Really, I’m fine, Fenris.”  Taking her hand, his calloused fingers ghosted over her pale skin, and in the flickering firelight he saw a thin line across the tip of her finger.  A bead of blood welled.

“It is fortunate that you are a mage, Hawke, if your skill with this knife is any indication.”  There was a wry twist to his mouth.

She scoffed.  “Honestly, Fenris.  You’ve seen me use a knife plenty of times.”  Embarrassed at his concern, she removed her hand from his and turned away.  He felt her magic slide into the space between them, its presence soothing to him as it mended her skin.

The small glow faded, and Hawke reached for the knife again.

“Allow me.”  She shot him a withering  glare, but let him finish cutting the berry tart without complaint.  When he was finished, she ate her piece with her fingers.  Small crumbs caught on her bottom lip and the fabric of her tunic.  Fire danced in her hair; Fenris turned away in a sudden fit of shyness.  In that moment, he felt so underserving of her, undeserving of this time with her as they moved to stay a step ahead of the spreading mage rebellion.  

The tart was sweet and sour and buttery on his tongue, a bright note against his darkening thoughts.

Her hand was cool on his skin as she touched him.  “Are you alright?” An echo of his words not long before.  “You seem distracted.”

He shook his head.  “I could ask the same of you.”

Hawke flushed.  “I don’t—“

“Really, Hawke.  Not only did you cut yourself, but you had been hunching over the table for near on a quarter hour.”  He had her and he knew it.

All of the air rushed from her in a sigh.  “I guess there’s no point hiding it, then.  I’ve received word from Varric.”

He felt a smile tugging on his lips at mention of Hawke’s friend —his friend too, now— before he registered that Hawke should be happy.  Instead, her lips were pursed, and that thin line of worry was visible between her brows.

“What is it?”  He himself frowned, and a knot of worry took root in his stomach.

“He’s decided to ally himself with that rising force we’ve been hearing about.  The ‘Inquisition,’ they’re calling themselves, after the late Divine’s wishes.”  She removed something from underneath the tart’s wrapping —Varric’s letter, he assumed.  “What he’s written…it’s troubling, Fenris.”

He took the letter, scanning it himself even though only a handful of words were discernible in Varric’s messy scrawl.  **_Demons_** and **_army_** and **_magic_** and **_breach_** stared up at him from the page.  “We shall keep an eye on it, Hawke.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she swallowed her words instead.  He set down the letter and reached for her.  The knot of worry hardened inside him.

First Kirkwall, and now this?

* * *

 

Another month passed.  They continued to move from town to town, avoiding pockets of mage-templar conflict, and staying off of the roads when they could.  Hawke refused to discard her staff, instead settling for removing the blade and disguising it as a walking stick.  Even tucked away from the Waking Sea, they still heard tales of Kirkwall, and the fires Ander’s actions had sparked.  

Through whispers in forest and tavern alike, Hawke determined to find the Wardens and learn more about Meredith’s cursed sword.  Rather, what they heard was news of the spreading rifts into the Fade, of demons coming in the night, of the growing Inquisition and its so-called “Herald of Andraste.”

Snow lay on the ground, and at nights they huddled together to stay warm.  

One such night, Fenris woke to find the space beside him empty, the blankets of the inn bed tossed aside.  

Lifting his head, his eyes roamed around the room blearily, finally settling on Hawke.  She was sitting before the fireplace, paper in her hand.  Varric’s latest letter.

A spark of anger ignited in his gut, joining the cold ball of worry that had made his stomach its home ever since Hawke received the first epistle.  He knew it was not anger at Hawke; he _thought_ it was not even anger at Varric for writing to her.  Rather, it was anger, hot and sharp, at the injustice of it all, of finding some modicum of peace and hope with Hawke, only to have even that comfort shaken.  

He dragged a hand down his face before rising from the bed and joining her in front of the hearth.  He didn't bother pulling on a shirt; Hawke had taken to wearing his, anyway.

“Hawke.”  He saw her flinch at her name, saw the way she seemed to draw into herself.  Frowning, he took the letter from her hands —they were trembling, he realized with alarm.

“Hawke.”  His voice was gentler this time, and he gathered her to his side with one hand, reading the cursed letter in his other.  It took some moments for him to puzzle out the letters into words.  This time, he made out **_attack_** and **_Frostbacks_** and **_Wardens_** **_missing_** and **_red_** **_lyrium_** and—

And.

**_Corypheus._ **

He sucked in a breath, the air hissing between his teeth.  

“Did I do this, Fenris?”  Hawke’s voice was small and uncharacteristically bleak sounding, under his arm.  “Carver…Maker, I haven’t heard from him in ages…I just thought he was so _busy_ with Warden business, I never thought…do you think…?”  She trailed off, a note of panic entering her words.

“Hawke—“

“And _Corypheus!_   I should have just left well enough alone—“

“Be reasonable.  He was trying to make an attempt on your _life._ ”  His voice was fierce, and he felt some solace to hear her fall silent at his admonition.

Heartbeats stretched between them, a regular counterpoint to the crackling of the logs in the fire.  He tried to dispel the feeling of mounting dread and panic by shifting to wrap her more firmly against him.  Her fingers traced patterns against the lines of lyrium on his arms.  “I feel so guilty.  So _responsible_.”  

He had no words to heal her, not these wounds.  He had been there, fighting next to her against the twisted and ancient Magister.  “You don’t have to shoulder this weight alone, Hawke.”

But he knew she would not listen to him.  Corypheus had been after _her_ blood, not his.  

“I failed to destroy him, it seems.  Therefore, I helped set him free, Fenris.”  

His brow furrowed even more, deep grooves etching into his face.  He heard an unspoken decision in her words.  “I will remain at your side, Hawke.  You must know that.”

He felt her shudder, and was surprised to feel wetness against his skin.  “I cannot ask that of you, dear one.”

“It would be folly to ask otherwise.”  He rested his chin against her hair, his hands smoothing over her.  “If you wish to commit to this path, I will go with you.”  There was finality in his tone, brooking no argument.  

Her fingers scrabbled against his shoulder as she moved to sit up.  Her eyes were wet, and her lips tilted upward against the tear tracks down her cheeks.  She cupped his face in her hands.  “I know you will, Fenris.”  She brushed her lips against his, voice a tremulous murmur.  “I know you will.”

He was on the edge of sleep, later, with Hawke curled against him, when he heard her say, “It is decided, then.”  The odd note in her voice was forgotten in the new day.

* * *

A week passed, and they were leaving yet another town behind them.  They were unsure of where to go next, only seeking to gain any information about Grey Wardens and the Inquisition.  But even north as they were, the Inquisition was still just a specter, and reliable information of any sort was hard to come by.  Here, even fears of demons were talked about in tight-lipped whispers.  

Even so, a smile flitted across his face as he picked his way across the ground, ducking beneath a snow-laden tree bough.  

Hawke, insisting upon going to the market to get more supplies by herself, had flitted away through the crowd, promising to meet him at midday at the river a mile outside of town.  It had cheered him to see some of her liveliness restored, even though that knot of worry still stayed inside him.  

He did not relish the idea of yet more conflict, bringing yet more opportunities for something to happen to Hawke—ah, but that was why he was going with her, he mused.  She was _his_ , and he would protect her until his dying breath.  

A breeze whistled through the wood, and Fenris hunched his shoulders.  Above him, the tree branches creaked and bent around him like a chantry’s cathedral.  The small parcel he carried sat warm and unassuming in a pouch next to his skin.  It was a small token of his affection, but somehow just as symbolic as their red ribbons.  Within the first weeks of fleeing Kirkwall, they had made their vows, their fates forged hot and strong through the years.  Hawke’s desire to split up and gather supplies alone had finally given him a chance to purchase a pair of simple metal bands.

He knew she deserved better, and that she did not require a ring, but he was excited just the same to finally slip the token onto her finger.

The forest around him was still, with only the intermittent birdsong.  He saw rabbit tracks in the new snow fall.  His breath crystalized in the air.  The thought of Hawke waiting quickened his steps.  

Ahead, he could see the glint of sun off of ice.  Stepping out of the trees, he shaded his eyes, looking around.  The river wended away from him, partially frozen.  Cattails and rushes clung desperately near the bank.  

Hawke was not there.

He paused, checking the sun’s position in the sky.  Turning, he scanned around him, looking for her.  His heartbeat was loud in his ears.  Despite the unease he felt, he hunkered down underneath a gnarled tree at the edge of the wood, determined to wait.

The sun climbed higher, and then began its descent.  As he sat, huddled against the cold, the conversations over Varric’s letters came back slowly to him.  Along with it came Hawke and the feeling of renewed purpose she had adopted over the weeks since, the way she had kissed him last night as they had lain together—

With blinding clarity, Fenris knew.  

_He knew._

The ball in his stomach frosted over as pain lanced through his heart.  His vision flashed white, impossibly hot.  Without looking, he knew his brands burned on his skin.

In a fury, he scoured the terrain for her boot tracks, anything to give a clue about which direction she had taken, if she had even come this way at all.  But there was nothing, only the soft susurrous of the wind.  His knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the snow.  

Betrayal and rage warred within him.  He let them, giving them their heads; better to feel those so strongly, rather than give into the sense of despair and despondency that loomed heavy on the horizon.  

Had she thought she was doing him a kindness, by not telling him goodbye?  Had she thought she was being gentle, by making his choice for him?

Memories of his confessions to her danced through his mind:  

_Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you._

_If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly by your side._

A wolf howled in the distance, a haunting and mournful sound.

* * *

Stepping from underneath the overhang, Hawke raised a hand to shield her eyes against the bright morning sunlight filtering into the courtyard.  The crisp mountain air was a welcome change from the somewhat stuffy infirmary, clearing her head.  She rolled her neck, feeling the ache that still lingered from the fighting and marching from Adamant.  The unsettling fatigue of depleted mana hovered over her, a malaise that was retreating with each day.  She refused to take lyrium potions, as a sort of atonement.

After escaping from the Fade, Hawke had felt paranoia and fear seep deep into her bones.  In her sleep, shadowy figures haunted her, taunted her.  The images of demons that visited her each night set her nerves on edge, one of the only times in her life she had worried about possession.  She had hardly slept since returning to Skyhold.

A footstep sounded off to her right, and she tensed.  Her line of thinking stopped.  “Feeling more restored, serah Hawke?”  One of the Wardens.  After Stroud’s sacrifice, the remaining Wardens had deferred to her without hesitance; Hawke felt out of her depth, and sensed underlying confusion and resentment flowing among the soldiers.

Forcing herself to relax, she dropped her hand from her neck.  “Yes, I quite think the worst has passed.  What of yourself?”

“We’re ready to move at any time; the troops are getting restless.”  He drew up his shoulders.  “I would recommend moving out in the next few days.  Inquisition scouts tell of a storm front blowing in; we would do best to put at least a day between us and it, or we must stay here until the passes clear again.”  

“What would you advise?”  

Approval shone in his eyes as he straightened, more at attention.  Hawke wondered if it was a conscious move.  “I would suggest readying to move by tomorrow, and setting out with the dawn.  We would keep the sun on our side.”

She nodded her agreement, and seemed to look at the Warden for the first time.  Exhaustion still lined his visage, despite the refuge offered at Skyhold, but he still stood straight and proud.  Unbroken by Corypheus.

For a moment, she envied him.

Refusing to pick at that particular wound, she turned away as he moved off to tell the other Wardens.  Instead, she braced herself for the coming journey, trekking through the Frostbacks and all the way through Orlais.  They would need to pass through war-torn lands, crawling with demons and Maker knew what else, and Weisshaupt loomed heavy in her mind.

That wound was too painful, too.  From the Warden stronghold, where would she go?  Where could she rest, with the world so in turmoil?  Kirkwall surely would not be ready to receive her as Champion yet;  she was no Commander of the Grey to remain in Weisshaupt.  And Fenris-

The bundles of letters, wrapped in oil cloth inside of her pack, seemed to accuse her for her silence.

She was a coward, Hawke.

For nearly every day after leaving him, she had penned a letter to Fenris.  She hadn’t even sent one herself, instead telling Varric to send one on her behalf.  He had managed to keep her abreast of Fenris’s whereabouts as best as he could for the past months, and the rumors the dwarf had shared of a lyrium-lit demon hunting down slavers in a hellish rage had near broken her heart.

The fear that the Nightmare had brought out in her, the sheer terror of losing him for good, was fresh in her mind.  And because of that, she had resolved herself to helping the Wardens, at least for a time.  She viewed it as a kind of penance, for running from him, and for surviving when in many ways it should have been Stroud.  A bitter smile stole onto her face.  After all, she was very good at running, at surviving. 

The flight from Lothering.

All of the years in Kirkwall, fighting for justice while running from her feelings.

Fleeing Kirkwall after the destruction of the chantry.

And now Fenris, her faithful ghost who would have gladly marched into Hell itself at her side, the only home she had come to care for the past three years.

An icy breeze swept around her, and she stared balefully up at the keep itself.  She supposed she should consult with the Inquisitor about leaving.

* * *

Hawke stood, holding the letters in her hand, when the knock came late that afternoon.  Curious, she opened the door; the air rushed from her lungs.

There he was, right in front of her.  Windswept hair and green eyes, with relief written clear on his face.  She noticed that he wore a fur across his shoulders and a thicker tunic under his breastplate.  Her breath hitched, and despite her fears and doubts, Hawke threw her arms around him with a wordless shout.

He fairly crushed her to him, and it settled her to feel him around her, like no wounds were between them.  After a moment—too short— Fenris released her.  “May I enter?”  She shivered at his voice, so rich and achingly familiar.  Her heart stuttered a bit, though, at the deeper meanings behind his question.  

She ushered him inside, dimly aware that she was not eager to have it out with Fenris in view and hearing of the garden and mage tower both.  Fenris set down his pack before turning back to her.  His olive eyes were unreadable in the room’s light.  “Hawke.”

“Fenris…” His eyes burned into her. She had imagined their reunion a thousand times, and still she knew not what, exactly, to say.  She settled for honesty, and braced herself for his anger. “Fenris, I’m incredibly sorry.” 

For a moment, his face was stone, the air in the room brittle.  She couldn’t breathe.  Then something about him softened.  “I am somewhat mollified to see that you are in one piece.”

He seemed to struggle with something.

“I understand if you are angry—“

“Angry?” There was a sardonic twist to his lips, and she felt the tension harden, momentarily shadowing his relief.  His voice was quiet in the deadly still way he had. “Anger is a quaint word, now.”  She flinched, turning away and hugging herself.  It felt like another failure of hers; she couldn't even face his anger.  “I nearly went blind with rage when I discovered what you had done.  I lost myself for a time, before the quiet acceptance came.  I could not even bring myself to keep hunting after you, taking my fury out on slavers, instead.”  A fresh wave of heartache broke over her.  “To leave, after all that…”  She felt, rather than saw, him take a step towards her.  “I would have walked anywhere by your side, Hawke—“

Something within her broke.  “I couldn’t let you, Fenris.  I was so afraid of something happening—“

“So you made the choice for me?”  His face screwed up at that.  “It was never yours to make.”  The echoes of the cold fury—the anguish— in his voice pierced her, sharp with unvoiced accusations.  “I would have followed you anywhere.”

Now she felt tears prickle.  “ ‘Would have’?”  She felt she was in another nightmare, this one somehow more terrible than anything from the Fade.  While she had expected their reunion to be…turbulent, she had also hoped for more time before they sifted through the jagged edges between them.

All at once, Fenris quieted, and heaved a sigh.  _“Will._   That has not changed, now that I am here.”  She saw a glimmer of hope in him, buried beneath his relief and pain.  She remembered another time, where she had carried a similar hope within her, when she had visited Fenris in his mansion after three long years of waiting.

Her voice was a quiet, fragile thing when next she spoke.  “I am willing, if you will still have me.”  She tried to convey all of the unspoken things through her gaze.  Fenris took another step towards her, and another.

Numbly, she felt his gauntleted hand brush against her cheek.  “I told you before, Hawke.  Nothing could keep me from you.”  His green eyes bored into her, but this time she did not shrink away from him.  “We have much to discuss.  I was angry; I felt abandoned…” He sighed, glancing away.  “And then I was resigned, once I received Varric’s first letter, that you would send for me when you were ready…”  Her breath caught, at the last bit, and his eyes snapped back to hers.  “ I will remain at your side.  Should you have me.”

Hawke broke into a watery smile, choking.  “After everything?  It is a wonder that you do not hate me.”

Fenris scoffed.  “Hate you?  No.”  She could still feel the emotions surging within him, but he mustered a half-smile, in that slightly exasperated way he had.

“I wrote to you.”  

His brow furrowed, the smile fading as confusion crept into his voice. “Varric was the one who told me you were safe, when you first arrived, and when you returned from Adamant.  I heard no word from you.”

She backtracked, shame bubbling to the surface.  “I was too much a coward to send them, but I saved them all.  They are yours to read, when you desire.”  She pressed her palms against the sturdy stone behind her.  “Perhaps I am a coward still, but they contain all of the things I have wished to say to you.  I understand that this has caused a great rift between us, one that may never fully heal.”  A shaky breath found its way into her lungs, and his gaze sharpened.  “I had my reasons for acting as I did.  I could not let you die; but now I see that, in a way, would have perhaps been kinder than what my leaving did to you.”  

Her heart wrenched at the look he leveled at her, and tears came anew to her eyes.  Silence hung in the room, softer than before.  After a moment, he said, “I will read them.”  His eyes searched her own.  “I heard rumors, that you came out of the Fade.”

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the terrible memories, and he moved closer, his hand resting on her shoulder.  “Yes.  We went into the Fade, and fought an Aspect of a Nightmare demon, a terrible thing of fear.  It spoke of our deepest terrors; to hear it taunting me of you…” Hawke shook her head to clear it, catching Fenris’s concerned look.  “I offered to stay behind, to give the others time to escape, but Stroud took the task on himself.  Now I feel responsible for the Wardens, in his absence.”  

She forced out her next words, a rueful smile stretching her mouth.  “Selfishly, I was, and am, relieved that he stayed, giving me a chance to reconcile with you…”  Hawke trailed off, feeling the old familiar ache of survivor’s guilt.

“Even there, I would have come for you.”  The rough certainty in Fenris’ voice was as an anchor, and she felt warmed from within.  He reached out with his other hand, fingering her hair in the sudden stillness between them.  “It is shorter than last I saw you.”  

A small laugh startled its way past her lips.  “And yours looks a bit shaggier.”  Fenris flashed a brief smile, before fumbling for something at his belt.  Hawke’s cheeks colored, her heart racing at the abrupt shift in his demeanor, before she felt something cold being pressed into her hand.  As she registered the simple shape, she felt a peculiar lightness blossom in her chest, at odds with the heaviness she had carried with her out of the Fade, which had further retreated at Fenris’s appearance.

His voice was gruff, answering her unspoken questions.  “I suppose it is presumptuous of me, with all that remains to be said.  But I had long wished to give you a token of my own.”  His fingers found hers, and she let him slip the simple band onto her finger.  New emotion welled within her; she reached for him.

“Fenris.”  She tried to impress all of her longing, her shame, her fear into his name.

“Hawke.”  He took her in his arms again, urgency coloring his embrace.  His lips were warm on hers, and it felt like coming home.  She knew, as he kissed her, that this reunion was treacherous ground they would need to navigate with care.

Both of them had deep wounds that were still tender to the touch, wounds that would only heal with time.  The pain of the past months had changed them, and Hawke feared still to see the consequences of those changes. But they would rebuild and repair the ruined time between them, as they had done so often —too often— in the past.

As the years had proven to her, Hawke knew that they would weather this storm together.  She and Fenris would yet again grow to be something more, something stronger, than they had been before.  Maker willing, there would be time enough for words later.  For now, she was content to press him more firmly against her, mansuetude and ferocity all at once.

After a moment, Fenris pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.  She reveled in the feel of him, here with her.  “What are your plans now, Hawke?”

She closed her eyes, feeling his breath puff against her lips.  “I had planned on leaving with the Wardens, tomorrow.  With Stroud gone, it falls to me to inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt what has happened here.”  

The words burbled out, more a formality than anything.  But she felt they needed to be said, just the same.

“Will you come with me, Fenris?”

His smile was full.  “Gladly.”


End file.
